


Your version of perfect

by Cinaja



Series: Legends of these lands [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Nesta makes herself a life away from the Night Court, Romance, Slow Burn, people being sensible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaja/pseuds/Cinaja
Summary: After spending a month in the Illyrian mountains, Nesta is ready to go anywhere else. However, that doesn't mean she's pleased when her sister and the High Lord decide that she's coming with them to visit some old friends - especially once she finds out the true reason behind it. But sometimes, fate works in strange ways and this visit may just turn out to be a lot better than Nesta thought.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Miryam/Drakon, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Legends of these lands [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776334
Comments: 29
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was hard, mostly because all these characters are so very complicated and each flawed in their own ways. I hope I managed to portray it correctly and stay true to the characters.

# Your version of perfect

## Chapter 1

Nesta hates the Illyrian Mountains.

She hates the cold, hates the hostile glances the warriors shoot her. "Witch", they whisper behind her back and make signs to ward off evil.

But above all, Nesta hates Cassian. Cassian, who was sent to watch over her like she's an unruly child. Cassian, who didn't object, didn't speak up on her behalf once. (It shouldn't feel as much like a betrayal). Cassian, who keeps looking at her like he expects things she can't give.

She sits in front of the fire, listens to the wood. Crack, crack, crack. Like a neck snapping. Sometimes, her power strains against her hold, but she refuses to give it an inch of room.

She refuses to train, doesn't so much as leave her cabin. Cassian is gone more often than not, which is fine by her.

She blinks and a month has gone by. It doesn't matter. There's no one around to care, anyways.

Until one day, Cassian stops in front of her chair. "We're leaving", he says.

Ever so slowly, Nesta lifts her head from her book. "No."

"Yes, we are." He throws a dress at her lap, midnight blue and softer than anything she's seen in the past month. It's simple, just the way she likes it. "Miryam and Drakon invited us to Cretea and you're coming. Rhys will be here in two hours."

"And why should I come along to visit some friends of Rhysand's that I don't even know?", Nesta bites out.

"You're our emissary, aren't you?", Cassian asks.

Nesta glares up at him. "I don't need Rhysand's pity job. My sister and him, they banished me. Let's not pretend they now want me to come along."

Cassian goes to his knees before her chair, the fire in his eyes softens to a warm glow. "I don't know...", he hesitates, sounding more helpless than she ever heard him, "Nesta, you're drowning. And I want to help you, but I don't know how. Please, Nes. Just let me help you."

"I don't need your help", Nesta snaps, "And I don't want it. I don't want _you_."

She could have sworn something like hurt flickers in Cassian's eyes. Nesta doesn't care.

The General gets up. "Two hours", he says and storms out.

Nesta stares at the dress for a moment. Then, she puts it on, if only because she's sure that otherwise, Rhysand will drag her out in her underclothes.

Rhysand arrives exactly on time. And, oh joy, he brings Feyre. Both of them are dressed in their finery, Feyre wearing that sparkling gown she already wore to the High Lord summit. She gives Nesta a small smile.

Nesta glares back at her. "What are you doing here?", she asks sharply, "I'm out of your wonderful little city, I stopped being a stain on your perfect life. Why can't you leave me be?"

Hurt flashes in Feyre's eyes and Rhysand lets out a soft growl. Cassian steps a bit closer to Nesta.

Then, Rhysand reaches out. His magic shoots through the air as he winnows them away. Darkness closes in, Nesta can't breathe. She is drowning in the dark, just like...

Then, there's light, glaringly bright. They are standing in a light, huge room. Nesta gasps for air and stumbles back a step, only for Cassian to take her by the arm and steady her. Her power is rumbling inside her, a great beast opening an eye, but Nesta shoves it back down. Something is strange here.

Nobody but Cassian pays any attention to her. Feyre and Rhysand are too focused on the two people greeting them.

Nesta recognizes Prince Drakon with his white wings from the battle. Today, the Prince doesn't wear armour, but rather a simple tunic. The female next to him - Princess Miryam, who no one ever calls by her title for some reason - also decided against finery (Nesta really wouldn't have needed to dress up), although she wears long clothes, covering almost every inch of skin, in spite of the heat that makes Nesta sweat even in her light dress.

Princess Miryam steps forward, grinning at Rhysand. "You know, I didn't think you'd actually come. Given that your last visit was more than 350 years ago."

He throws up his hands in expiration. "I already apologized. Thrice."

Prince Drakon shrugs. "Don't pretend I didn't warn you."

Nesta stops listening. She has no interest in hearing them bicker or watch them hug each other, all so very happy to see each other again. All these oh-so-perfect people living in their perfect world that has no space for someone like her.

Something is strange. Something feels wrong beyond her annoyance at her sister and the High Lord. A feeling of dread, a murmur of power.

"And you must be Nesta", Miryam says and holds out a hand in greeting. "I heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you."

Nesta doesn't take the offered hand. "I may not have had a choice in coming here", she says, "But that doesn't mean that I'm going to pretend to be happy about it or play nice with you."

Miryam arches an eyebrow. Next to her, Feyre blushes with embarrassment. Yes, Nesta the embarrassment. She wonders what she'd have to do to be kicked off the island. She might try, but if Feyre then decides to get rid of her for good, she'll have nowhere else to go.

So she just keeps to the back of the group as the Prince and Princess of Cretea lead them through their castle. Of course, Feyre has to ask for a tour of the city. And of course, Nesta is required to come along.

The city is beautiful, Nesta can certainly admit as much. Different from Velaris, but just as stunning. Somehow, the buildings are lighter, build for daylight while Velaris is the city of stars. And there`s lots of green everywhere, trees and plants growing on the streets and sometimes even on the houses.

The part of Nesta that once wished to travel far and wide admires the city. And the part of her that spoke out at the High Lord meeting marvels at the fact that High Fae, lesser faeries and humans all live together in peace.

After an hour, Nesta decides she hates this place. It's too perfect. All these happy people, living their peaceful, easy lives. She feels like a stain of dirt in all this beauty. A dark hole filled with emptiness.

Feyre stops questioning Prince Drakon about how they managed to get all of the people to live together in peace for a moment to fall back to Nesta.

"I never thought something like this would be possible", she says, "A world without walls."

Nesta glares at her. "You sent me off to the Illyrian mountains and now you want to have small talk?"

"That's not fair", Feyre whispers, "I was trying to help you. You were wasting away, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." She shakes her head. "I understand how you feel, I really do. I was in the same place once. And it would have _killed me_ if Rhys and the others hadn't been there to pull me out."

Nesta gives her a flat look. "You understand nothing", she bites out. Only to turn around and find that everyone stopped their tour to stare at her. "Just leave me be", she tells all of them and continues walking.

The rest of the day is slow, unending torture. Cassian keeps looking at her, trying to get her to talk to him. He teases and makes those insufferable comments of his, or points out some of the buildings to her. Nesta ignores him, ignores all of them. Feyre looks increasingly upset, Rhysand seems to just barely stop himself from snapping at her.

Nesta wants to leave. She wants to go back to her apartment, or even the Illyrian Mountains. She wants to disappear.

Miryam keeps shooting her looks. Both her and Drakon try to include her into the conversation as much as possible. Prince and Princess Perfect. Nesta snorts. Yes, that fits. They probably save kittens in their free time.

Eventually, the city tour ends. Unfortunately, afterwards they have dinner. Nesta tries to excuse herself, but Feyre is having none of it. So Nesta gets dragged into the dining room, where, oh joy, lots of other people are present. She doesn't listen to the introductions.

During dinner, Nesta makes a point to ignore everyone. Her power is being difficult, trying to rise over and over again. She doesn't know what's wrong, but the slightest hint of emotion sets her on edge.

She wonders if their hosts will still be so pleasant if she shatters their pretty dining room.

Dinner finally ends and most of the guests leave. Nesta is just about to flee as well when Drakon asks, "So you still want to go see the Cauldron tomorrow?"

Nesta freezes where she's standing by the doorway. "What?", she whispers.

Feyre turns to her, a pleading look on her face. Nesta just shakes her head. "When were you about to tell me?", she asks sharply.

Miryam looks between them, frowning. "What's going on?", she asks.

Nesta doesn't give anyone a chance to reply. "I'm not doing it", she hisses, dread curling in her stomach, "I'm not ever facing that damned thing again. And if you try to force me, you're going to regret it."

Nesta rips the door open. Rhysand gets up, but Drakon grabs him by the arm. "Oh no", he says, a hint of sharpness showing behind his light tone, "You're going to stay right here and explain to us what's going on."

Nesta doesn't hang around to listen. Instead, she storms off.

The Cauldron is here. Maybe in this very palace. That's why her power is behaving this strangely, why she's been feeling wrong ever since she arrived.

"Nesta!" Steps sound, then Cassian storms around the corner. "Nesta, wait!"

She does. If only because she refuses to let him chase her through the palace.

"It's not..." Cassian hesitates. "We really are trying to help you."

"How is making me face that _thing_ helpful _?"_

Cassian shakes his head. He reaches for her arm, Nesta pulls back. "It can destroy you. That kind of power", he says, "Drive you mad, kill you. I've seen it happen. So you need to learn to control it. But you won't talk, you won't train..." He almost looks helpless. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm running out of options and I'm running out of time. And facing the Cauldron... it might help."

For a moment, Nesta hesitates. But then, the memories return. The feeling of drowning, drowning, drowning. She shakes her head.

"No, it won't", she says. Her power is pulling at her now, a strong current threatening to pull her under. Nesta can't control it.

"Leave me alone", she snaps, taking a step backwards.

She needs to get out, needs to get away. Nesta turns around and runs. She doesn't know where she's going, how to get to her room, but she knows that if she spends a moment longer with Cassian, she'll erupt.

She stumbles through the corridors of this stupid, perfect palace. The walls she built around herself are crumbling, her power threatening to spill over. Nesta gasps, she stumbles against a wall and presses her hands to her head.

With shaking hands, she rips open a door to her right (rips it right out of the frame) and staggers into the room.

She barely catches a glimpse of a study before her power erupts.

It feels like fire. Fire so cold it burns, rushing through her veins, shattering any control she had. Shattering the room, too.

Nesta is shaking, trying to at least contain the destruction to the room. (She didn't mean to do this. She thought about shattering the dining room, but she never meant to actually go through with it.)

Her power is still burning inside of her, threatening to rise again. Maybe shatter the entire palace this time.

Then, her Fae ears pick up a noise from the door. Nesta spins around, only to find Princess Miryam leaning in the doorway, watching her. Nesta tenses, staring at the female (she's sure her eyes are glowing with barely contained power).

"Leave", she snaps, not bothering to sound polite. She's lost control, she might erupt again at any moment - no one can be in close proximity if she's like this.

But Miryam doesn't listen, seemingly completely unfazed by Nesta's power or her glowing eyes. She takes a step into the room and toes a small piece of wood, all that remains of one of the tables.

"Leave!", Nesta hisses.

"I'm not scared of you", Miryam says simply.

"You should be." Can't she see that Nesta's dangerous, a wild beast not made for this life?

Miryam looks up. "I have been through hell and left it burning behind me. I have known monster that make Amarantha look as harmless as a child and survived them. So if you want to scare me, Nesta Archeron, you'll have to try a lot harder than that."

Nesta contemplates for a moment. Not scared. That would make her the third, after Amren and (although Nesta hates to admit that) Cassian.

"You got something to drink anywhere in your palace?", she asks.

Miryam snorts. "I'll get something. And asks someone to clean this up."

"No", Nesta says. Miryam shoots her a questioning look and she adds, "I'll clean it myself."

Miryam just nods and leaves. By the time she returns, Nesta has gotten a tight grip on her power, the walls she keeps around herself rebuilt.

Miryam puts down a bag, likely full of cleaning utensils and hands Nesta a bottle filled with amber liquid. Nesta takes a swig and sighs. (She did find some alcohol in Illyria, in spite of Cassian's best efforts, but it tasted like rat piss. This is much better.)

After taking a few swigs, she hands the bottle back to Miryam. "Want some?"

"I don't drink."

Nesta snorts. "You really are a Princess Perfect, aren't you?"

For a few seconds, Miryam just stares at her. Then, she bursts out laughing.

"That one's new", she says, "Whatever did I do to earn that title?"

Nesta shrugs. "You with your peaceful little island, oh-so-nice. You're so perfect it makes me want to retch."

Miryam laughs again, but this time, she doesn't sound amused at all. "You don't know a lot about me, do you?" There is a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Nesta expects her to continue, but the female doesn't. Instead, she simply hands her a broom and begins to put the bigger splinters into a bag.

They work in silence for a while. Nesta focuses entirely on her work. Sweeping, cleaning up her destruction. She hopes she'll get blisters. She hopes her hands will begin to bleed.

After a while, Nesta has calmed down enough to say, "I could have killed you earlier."

"I know. But you wouldn't have."

Nesta puts another bunch of splinters in the bag. "You don't know that."

"I watched you fight for control over your power the entire day", Miryam says, "Even when you erupted, you kept it contained to one room. So no, you wouldn't have killed me."

Nesta grips her broom so hard she thinks it might snap. She doesn't want to be trusted. It just means another person who'll be disappointed in her. Or another person who dies because of her. No, thank you. She'd rather be alone. But she is too tired to find the words necessary to chase Miryam away.

It takes them another hour to get the room cleaned again. What's left is a shell of a room. Exactly how Nesta feels. Hollow. Burnt out.

Miryam leans on her broom. "You know, Rhys and Feyre still want to take you to the Cauldron tomorrow."

Nesta bristles, wondering why she feels betrayed. "You're on his side, too?"

"I don't know what's going on between you two", Miryam says, "but Rhys is one of my oldest friends. I owe him my life, you know?"

"I don't care", Nesta says.

"What I'm trying to say", Miryam continues, "is that he's a good male. But on this, he's wrong."

"What?"

Miryam shrugs. "I'll talk to him. But you have my word: No one will take you to the Cauldron against your will."

 _Thank you,_ Nesta thinks. But she doesn't say it, just nods.

"Well, then I have to be off", Miryam says, "Drakon is running out of excuses for why I'm not with the others."

"Where do I take the trash?", Nesta asks, pointing towards the bags.

Miryam gives her directions, then she hurries off. And finally, Nesta is alone.

She grabs the two bags and starts dragging them out of the room. They are heavy and even with her Fae strength, she has to stop every few metres.

"What are you doing?", a voice asks from behind her.

Slowly, very slowly, Nesta turns around. "What does it look like?"

"Like you're ruining your back, sweetheart."

Cassian grins and, without asking for permission, takes one of the bags, lifting it off the ground effortlessly. He reaches for the second one, too, but Nesta doesn't let go. So instead, he opens his bag and peers inside.

"What happened?", he asks sharply, worry creasing his brow.

"That's none of your concern."

Nesta drags her bag on. Cassian, who almost died for her. Whom she almost died for. It scares her more that she's ready to admit.

They deposit the bags by a back door. Panting, Nesta leans against the wall.

"Are you okay?", Cassian asks.

"I've told you", Nesta says and she's proud of how calm she sounds, "time and time again to just leave me alone. Why do you insist on shoving your nose in my business?"

" _Because I can't stay away_ ", Cassian replies. He's panting, too, but not from exhaustion.

"You managed just fine those months after the battle!"

Cassian flinches, as if she struck him. "You wanted space, I gave it to you. You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me - with us!"

"So what if I did?", Nesta asks, "You're upset I didn't want to play merry little family with you? That I couldn't pretend everything was great? And go to parties, buy a house and play happy?" Nesta laughs, a cold, broken sound. "That's your version of perfect, Cassian. Not mine. I don't want it and if you're being honest, none of your friends truly want me, either."

With that, she turns around. Head high, back straight. There is anger. But for the first time in ages, there's also a hint of sadness.

\----

It's just past midnight when Rhys leaves the suite Feyre and him are sharing. His mate is already asleep, looking peaceful and so very young under her blankets.

He walks through the silent corridors of the palace and knocks on the door to Miryam and Drakon's rooms.

His two old friends are sitting on the couch. Miryam is leaning against Drakon, he has his wing wrapped lightly around her. Miryam, for once, exchanged her long tunic for a light shirt with short sleeves. Rhys manages to keep from wincing, to keep his face blank, only through years of experience. (The scars aren't the worst he's ever seen. But close. Especially because she was still a child when she received them.)

Sighing, Rhys sits down on the couch opposite them.

"You lied", Miryam says by way of greeting.

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you the entire truth." It's a weak attempt and Rhys knows.

Drakon shoots him a look that says as much. "Well, either way, you aren't taking Nesta to the Cauldron."

"This isn't your choice to make."

"It isn't yours, either", Miryam points out, "Besides, without my help, you won't get within 500 metres of the Cauldron and you know it."

Rhys does, unfortunately. Which means that he can either keep arguing (probably to no end, given the way the two of them are looking at him) or find a way to explain to Feyre why their plan won't work.

"Facing the Cauldron", he says, "might help her."

"Or it might break her, if she isn't ready", Miryam replies, "It's too big a risk and, again, not your choice."

"Teaming up on me?", Rhys asks, "Cold. Just cold."

Again, it's Miryam who replies. "You are one of our oldest friends, Rhys. And in spite of the reputation you built around yourself, I've only ever known you to be a good male. Understanding and kind to those around you." She shakes her head. "So I cannot understand how you can be so... cold towards a female who is so obviously suffering." She nods towards Drakon. "Neither of us can."

Rhys fights to keep from bristling. "You don't know Nesta", he says, "This behaviour isn't a coping mechanism. She was rude bordering cruel before I ever met her. When she was _fourteen_ , Feyre went out to the Forest alone to hunt, while Nesta did _nothing_."

Miryam and Drakon exchange a look. Finally, Drakon says, "I'm not trying to judge, you know. But she did help fight against Hybern, killed the King. She was willing to _die_ for your plan to work, for Cauldron's sake."

"Wrong deity in this situation", Rhys mutters. Then, he sighs. "We tried. Well, Feyre, Elain and Amren did. We tried giving her space and including her and getting her out. None of it worked. She keeps hurting Feyre and I can't stand that. I can't forgive that."

"You want my opinion?", Drakon asks.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Drakon grins. "So, I think you have a very bad case of mating bond. Symptoms include territorialism, aggression against any threat and, if I may add, using broom closets for any purposes but the intended one - and yes, we _did_ notice that."

"To be fair, it was a very nice closet", Rhys says without a hint of remorse, "And as for the rest-"

"As for the rest", Miryam says, "Drakon is right and you know it. I can even kind of understand - your first weeks of mating were... difficult, so your reaction is somewhat natural. Still, you're over 500 years old. She's 24. So in this situation, you're kind of expected to be the mature one."

"Why are you on her side?", Rhys asks. (He has a feeling there is another reason why Miryam and Drakon are so ready to ignore Nesta's mistakes and help her. But that strikes far too close to home for him to mention. After all, they are his friends and he'll be damned if he looses them over this).

"So there are sides, now?", Drakon replies, "No one argues that Nesta is handling the situation well. But we're your friends, Rhys, and as such, it's our duty to call you out when you're acting like an ass."

"Especially", Miryam adds, "because we know you're better than this."

Rhys groans. The worst part is, they have a point. He knows that his behaviour towards Nesta is... problematic. But he just can't help it. Can't help the sheer fury that rises in him whenever he thinks of what his mate went through.

"And you wonder", he asks, "why I never visit you?"

Miryam throws a cushion at his face. Laughing, Rhys catches it.

"I missed you", he says, seriously this time, "Even if you're insufferable."

"We missed you, too", Drakon replies, "even if you can be an ass."

Miryam adds, "And didn't visit us for 351 years."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

They exchange a look, then say in unison, "No."

Rhys groans.

"So, Nesta", Drakon says, sobering, "She could stay here."

"No."

"You don't like her", Miryam points out, "And by now, it should be painfully obvious that she doesn't fit with your court - doesn't _want_ to fit. So let her go."

"She's Feyre's sister. And Cassian..."

"Is her mate. So what?"

Rhys freezes, staring at Miryam. He suspected, but.... Shit. That explains a lot.

"You didn't know", Miryam says, blushing.

"No. Like literally everyone but you and a handful of others, I _cannot_ see such things."

"Does it change anything, though?", Drakon asks, "She doesn't want anything to do with you and none of you have a claim on her. If she wishes to stay, you can't stop her."

Feyre will be hurt. Cass, too. But maybe, it is indeed for the best. For all involved. Rhys certainly won`t be sorry to have Nesta be someone else`s problem.

"Ask her, then", he says (pretending they were asking him, instead of simply informing him of their decision).

Miryam nods and gets up.

She has reached the door when Rhys asks, "What else did you see? Beyond the mating bond. Do you know what her powers are?"

"That", Miryam says, "is between Nesta and me."

\----

The confrontation with Cassian left Nesta empty. Even more empty than usual.

Pushing him away time and time again is hard, so very hard. Especially when all her body yearns for is to let him stay near. But she can't let him in. She just can't. It's not possible.

A knock sounds on the door. Not the Illyrian, both because she would have sensed him and because he'd never have knocked so lightly. She's relieved, she tells herself.

She ignores the knock. Maybe it's Feyre. Here to scold her for blowing up the study, or to tell her again how well she understands.

"Nesta? Are you awake?"

Not Feyre. Nesta still doesn't try to look pleasant as she opens the door. "What?", she asks sharply.

"Nice to see you, too", Miryam replies lightly.

Nesta glares at her. "I thought you'd be busy with your mate. Feyre and Rhysand can hardly go a minute without flirting around."

Miryam grins. "I noticed. The broom-closet-incident."

Nesta doesn't know what she means, but it's not hard to guess. Either way, she doesn't feel like having inside jokes with that female.

"What do you want from me?", she asks, "You don't even know me. I'm nothing to you and I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity. Can I come in?"

"No."

Nesta isn't here to make friends. She can't even stand Miryam. (Not entirely true. They may be different as day and night, but there is steel in Miryam that Nesta can't help but admire. And she is the first one who doesn`t look at Nesta like she`s a strange, wild animal. But she doesn't want to like her. Bad things happen when she gets close to people.)

Miryam rolls her eyes. "Right. You know, Rhys and the others are leaving in a week. But if you want to, you can stay."

Nesta stares at her. Blinks. Considers the reasons for this offer.

"Did Rhyand set you up to this?" She laughs sharply, "You're always the one who has to deal with the dangerous, unwanted things, aren't you? First the Cauldron, then me."

"No”, Miryam replies calmly, “And if you don't want to hear what I have to say, you can just say so. There's no need to insult me."

Nesta's first instinct is to chase her off. But then, she thinks of the cold in the Illyrian mountains. Of the snapping wood. The people here may be annoyingly perfect, but they don't seem to care if you're human or Fae. Maybe they won't care about what Nesta is, either. Miryam certainly doesn`t seem to mind. (Nesta`s not even sure if she truly hates the island, or if the issue is just that anger is the only emotion she feels anymore.)

"You'd just let me live here?", she asks carefully, "No expectations, no strings attached?"

Miryam shakes her head. "You'd have to work."

"Another pity job? Like playing emissary?"

Miryam laughs at that. "If you're interested in foreign politics, this is the wrong place to go. And should you ever get a position on our council, I can guarantee you, it will be because you earned it, not out of pity. No, I had something else in mind", she smiles at Nesta, "I sometimes help out as a healer in one of the city's hospitals. If you want to, you could start there as a nurse. Or whatever else you like, really. But you'd have to earn money like everyone else. I don't think that should be a problem, though - you said you didn't want pity so you probably wouldn't take money, either."

Nesta should feel ashamed at that. After all, she did take the money. But again, she can't muster the feeling.

"That's it?"

"Keep to our laws, but I think that's a given." Miryam shrugs. "You'd also have to train. Someone clearly taught you the basics, but you'll need a bit more than that. Five hours a week."

"No", Nesta says.

"You don't have to reply, now. Just think about it." Miryam pushes of the wall she was leaning against. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Wordlessly, Nesta slams her door shut. And leans against it from the inside.

No more than a few seconds pass, then, steps approach. She recognizes him from the way he walks, from the sound of his breathing. Knows it's Cassian before he even knocks.

"Nesta", he says, "I need to talk to you."

She doesn't reply. Maybe if she doesn't react, he'll go away.

But Cassian doesn't. "I know you're there. And if you won't open the door, I'll just talk through it." He pauses, then continues, "This visit wasn't Rhys' idea, or Feyre's, although they certainly think it was. It was mine."

Nesta rips open the door. Cassian stares at her. His feet are braced apart, like he's expecting a fight, but his wings tremble.

"I wrote to Miryam and Drakon two weeks ago", he says, "after I had come to realize that the Illyrian Mountains weren't good for you. Az delivered the letter for me."

Nesta forces her body to remain still. "So you asked your friends if they'd take care of the _issue_?"

"No!" Cassian shakes his head wildly. "No, I just asked them to invite Rhys. Told them that I wanted to bring you here, that you weren't well, although I didn't give specifics. And when Rhys got the invitation, I convinced Feyre and him to take you along."

"Why?", Nesta asks, "All to get rid of me?"

"You truly think that?", Cassian asks too quietly, "I wanted to help you. I truly thought facing the Cauldron might help. And I know you always wanted to travel, so I thought seeing this place, where it doesn't matter if you're Fae or human..." He shakes his head. Then, he takes a deep breath, like he's bracing himself. "You should take the offer."

"What offer?"

"The one Miryam just made you."

"So you set her up to that, too?" (That's why Nesta doesn't let people in. So that it doesn't hurt so much when they betray you)

But Cassian shakes his head. "I had nothing to do with that. Mother, I barely even know Miryam and Drakon beyond what Rhys and Mor told me about them."

Nesta snorts. "I thought you were such great friends."

"I was a nobody in the War. They were the Alliance's heroes, both of them war leaders." He shrugs. "Besides, Illyrians don't mix well with other aerial armies - especially those that allow females to lead. So my unit never fought with the Seraphim. And you know how Illyrians feel about witches, so you can imagine how much they _loved_ Miryam."

Nesta blinks, the only sign of her surprise. Of course, no one ever thought to tell her that the Princess is a witch.

Cassian continues, "I never meant for things to go this way. I wanted... it doesn't matter, now. But maybe we are all top caught up in our own messes to help you. Maybe this is what you need - the chance to build yourself a life away from any expectations. And if I have to let you go so that you can live the life you want, then I'll do it."

Nesta swallows. But for the first time, she can almost see a future. It isn't bright, or pretty, but hers. A small flat, a small job. Not perfect. But she never wanted perfect, anyways.

"What about you?", she asks before she can stop herself.

Cassian reaches out for her, carefully. Takes her hand in his. "I'll wait for you", he says softly, "Even if it takes a thousand years, I'll never stop waiting. I once told you that we'd have time in the next life. Now, I'll promise you that we'll have time in this one." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and lets go. "Whenever you are ready."

He gives her one of his cocky smiles, a hint of sadness shining through, then turns around and slowly walks away. Nesta stares after him. For the first time in months, there is a feeling of warmth inside her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who left comments or kudos last time! You really made my day :)

## Chapter 2

Nesta rises with the sun, even though it was already long past midnight when she finally fell asleep last night.

When she opens her wardrobe, she finds her own gowns within. Feyre must have packed her bags for her. Nesta chooses the simplest gown, more fitting for a rich peasant's wife than a lady, but she doesn`t want to draw attention to herself today.

In a drawer, she finds some jewellery that she shoves into a bag. There is a vague unease (still not quite shame) but it's the last time she`ll need anything from her sister.

The guards at the gate spare her no more than a single glance before they wave her through. Nesta steps out into the city.

There are few people around this early in the morning, but none of them pay her and mind. Nesta sighs in relief. She had feared that her light skin would mark her as a foreigner, but no one seems to notice. It seems that, while most people have skin in varying shades of brown, there are a few (mostly humans) who are light skinned.

Slowly, Nesta walks through the city. Now that she is actually here by choice, she can begin to appreciate its beauty.

The city is surrounded by a rainforest, trees reaching into the sky, higher than any Nesta has ever seen. And while the city clearly created a clearing in the forest, it still seems to exist in harmony with its surroundings. Trees grow at the sidewalks, sometimes, houses are entirely covered in plants. Colourful birds are flying through the air and monkeys climb around on the facades.

It is beautiful and for once, Nesta finds she doesn`t feel like a stain. Because this place thrives from the differences of its people - humans and faeries and Fae together forming a whole. What does one more difference matter in a place like this?

Nesta finds a small jewellery shop, a sign at the door proclaiming that it buys as well as sells. A bell chimes as she pulls open the door and enters.

A young man sits behind the counter, his round ears clearly marking him as human. Nesta pulls the jewellery out of her bag and puts it on the counter.

“I`d like to sell this.”

The man examines her carefully, then puts out an examining glass to look at the jewellery. “Did you steal it?”

Nesta bristles. “No.” 

He shrugs. “I`ll give you two hundred gold marks.”

“Five hundred.”

The human man laughs. “Forget it. I`ll raise it to two hundred fifty and you should be glad for it.”

“It`s worth eight hundred”, Nesta says. She has been raised a lady and a merchant`s daughter, after all. She knows as much about the worth of jewellery as she does about barter, which is to say: A lot.

“Here, it`s worth three hundred”, the man says.

“Fine.” Nesta watches a smile spread over the man`s face - and vanish as she begins to shove her jewellery back into her bag. “Then I`ll go somewhere else.”

“No one will pay you more than that!”, the man says. Nesta turns around. “I`ll give you four hundred.”

Nesta reaches for the door.

“Four hundred fifty!”

She pulls it open.

“Fine! Five hundred!”

Nesta turns back around. “Good.” She puts the bag back on the counter and carefully watches the man count the coins onto the table.

“You barter hard”, he tells her, smiling (he doesn`t look angry like she expected, but impressed), “You`ll make it far yet.”

Nesta gives him a brief nod, takes her money and puts it into her pocket. Then, she steps back onto the street. 

There are two more things she needs to do: Find a job and find an apartment. Both will be difficult in this strange place. Both would have been far easier if she had taken Miryam along, who surely would have gladly accompanied her, but she doesn`t want to walk these streets with a royal escort. And she certainly doesn`t want an apartment or a job to be offered to her solely because Miryam, beloved by everyone, asks some of her people to give dangerous, broken Nesta a chance.

No, Nesta much prefers to be ordinary in this place. A nobody. Not Nesta Archeron, Made by the Cauldron, who killed the king of Hybern, sister to Feyre Cursebreaker. Just her. If people give her a job or don`t, she wants it to be because of _her_.

Slowly, Nesta walks through the city. She doesn`t feel hungry, but still buys a croissant. She eats half of it and feeds the other half to a monkey who kept watching her with hungry eyes while she ate.

The further she gets away from the centre, the poorer the inhabitants seem to grow. Run down houses, tired-looking people. In all fairness to their rulers, Nesta has to admit that no species seems to be poorer or richer than the other and even the poorest quarter is better off than the people in the village Nesta lived in while she was human.

She finds a small apartment in a region of the city that is somewhere between poor and middle-class. The apartment is owned by a Seraphim female who spends the entire time it takes to show Nesta the rooms talking. By the time Nesta signs the contract renting the apartment, she knows that the female is not entirely Seraphim, but one quarter lesser faerie, was born in a city in the north but moved here with her lover, soon-to-be-wife, for work.

Nesta hands her the rent for the first month, shakes the female`s hand and offers her a tight smile as a goodbye. The female smiles back broadly and reminds her to bring her papers the next time. Nesta nods. (She`ll have to talk to Miryam about that, because she doesn`t feel like finding a way to forge the papers.) Then, she asks for the way to the hospital.

The female gives her a detailed description, but the way is long and Nesta has to ask strangers for directions twice before she finds the huge building near the city`s centre.

Nesta takes a moment to straighten her clothes and make sure her hair is bound back into a tight knot before she enters the hospital. She walks up to the counter and says, “I`d like to apply for a job.”

Nesta has to repeat these words at least five times to different people, until someone finally points her into the right direction. (Somehow, Nesta thought getting a job would be easier. She never really imagined that there would be any kind of process involved. But then again, she never really did work beyond her brief time as an emissary for the Night Court.)

Finally, she ends up sitting in the office of a female wo is apparently the head healer. She is a faerie with black skin (not dark brown but true, deep black) and huge glowing eyes.

"Do you have any experience as a nurse?", the female asks.

"I helped with the wounded during the war."

"I would have thought you were younger.”

"I meant the war against Hybern”, Nesta clarifies.

"Ah, that." The female wrinkles her nose. "More of a skirmish, wouldn't you say?"

Blinding fury, the only emotion Nesta really feels these days, rises at the words. She tries to shut out the images of the fields of dead, her father lying on the ground, eyes unseeing. Cassian, covered in blood. Her power rises in a low rumble, filling her with that strange ice-fire.

Nesta takes a deep breath. _Control_ , she tells herself, _you control this_. At least Miryam seemed to think she could.

"The thousands of dead", she says coldly, "would likely say otherwise."

"True enough", the female says, "Well, lucky for you, we are indeed looking for new nurses. You can get a job on a trial basis. If you do your job well, you can also train as a healer."

Nesta nods. Any pride she might have felt at actually getting the job is being drowned out by the magic that's still burning in her.

"Come back in two days to sign the contract", the female says, "And bring your papers."

Nesta nods. She only just manages a brief goodbye before she rushes out.

It gets easier once she is outside on the square, but her power is still roaring, filling the emptiness inside her with fire. She wishes she could go back to her flat in Velaris and lock her locks behind her - a ritual that always gave her a sense of calm.

Instead, she does the only other thing she knows to do: she enters a shop and buys three bottles of liquor.

\----

Cassian sheathes his sword. “Good fight”, he tells Prince Drakon.

The Prince winces. “You`re brilliant”, he says without a hint of jealousy. For a royal, he takes getting his ass kicked quite gracefully.

Rhys leans on the back of the bench where Miryam is sitting with Nephelle, watching them spar. “Want to give it a go?”

“Forget it”, Miryam replies sweetly.

“What about you?”, Rhys asks Nephelle.

The small Seraphim grins up at him. “Anytime.”

While they get into a ring, Cassian begins to unwrap the bandages around his hands. 

“Your technique is good”, Sinna tells him without taking her eyes off the fight where her wife is holding up quite well against Rhys. 

Cassian has to keep from grinning. Sinna is the General of Drakon`s aerial army and a legend. When he was younger, he studied every one of her strategies, wanting to be just like her. The compliment means the world to him.

Still, he gives her his best cocky grin and says, “What can I say? Illyrians are born for battle.”

The female snorts. “Well, your army is _almost_ as good as ours.”

“Excuse me? You are almost as good as we are, if anything.”

Sinna grins. “Sorry, but from what I gathered during that battle, you still don`t have any female soldiers. So I should probably say we are _twice_ as good as you, because you deny _half_ your people the chance to join the army.”

"Touché", Cassian mutters.

"How are things going with the Illyrians, anyways?", Drakon asks, "Any progress?"

"Some", Cassian says, "We are working on integrating females more, but it's a slow work and a long way to go."

It's a harmless way to describe the situation, but it's better to get it over with.

"Especially after the war", Feyre cuts in, "They had may losses and are angry. Some even talk of rebellion."

"Why would they rebel?", Drakon asks, "Did they not know the risks of war?"

Rhys and Nephelle finish their fight and walk over to join them. Cassian tries not to wince. He has a really bad feeling about where this conversation is going.

Feyre says, "They feel we are forcing change onto them. They don`t want to change, or be ruled by Rhys. And to make matters worse, they say we forced them into this war and had them slaughters as some kind of punishment.

Cassian wishes she'd just stop talking. Rhys, from the look that passes his face, thinks the same and tells her as much. There are certain phrases to be avoided at all costs in such conversations and one of them is-

"Forced?", Sinna asks and Nephelle nudges her in the side before she can say anything else.

Rhys still bristles. "The Ilyrians aren't like the Seraphim. Without pressure, they would never change or do anything. And need I remind you that we _needed those soldiers_ during the war?"

Feyre frowns. Drakon does, too. The reaction was far too harsh for a conversation that, so far, was entirely peaceful.

"If you want to", Drakon says carefully, "I could take a look into the situation. I'm sure there are historical precedents for situations like this. Maybe I can adapt an approach to fit the Illyrians."

Cassian isn't entirely confident this will work and Rhys says as much. "They won`t care about political theory, Drakon. I wish it was that easy, but if I loosen my hold, they will go right back to where they started."

"Lashes snap, though", Miryam points out, "They always do."

"I'm _trying_!", Rhys says.

“No one`s doubting that.”,

Cassian does them all a favour and cuts in before this can go any further. With a grin, he says to Drakon, "Can't hurt to take a look at those books of yours, though. If what's inside doesn't help, I can still use them to beat some sense into those pricks."

They all laugh, then Sinna jerks a chin at Rhys, "Want to give it another go?"

They return to the ring and Cassian stifles a sigh. He wonders if anyone but him suspects the reason Rhys blew off at the mention of the Illyrians. The same reason he only visited Cretea once.

Shame.

The first visit had been a hundred fifty years after the War, a year after Rhys had become High Lord and he'd come back full of ideas. Eager to apply what he'd seen to his own territory.

They'd tried. Changing the laws, appointing new officials. In parts, it had worked. But with the Illyrians, with the Hewn City, they had failed. Failed and failed again. Until they had realised that ruling with a hard hand, keeping these people at a tight lash, was the only way for them to keep control over parts of their territory and at least get some changes through.

The Court of Dreams. But the harsh truth was that parts of their dreams had remained just that. Rhys was a generous and good ruler with Velaris and most parts of his territory. But for the Illyrians and the Court of Nightmares, he'd had to remain the cruel High Lord.

And Cassian had always suspected that his brother had been ashamed to tell his old friends about that – to admit that, in parts, he failed. Cassian knows neither of their hosts well enough to judge how they'd react. Has no idea if they'd judge or understand.

"We're all under a lot of pressure", Feyre says softly, watching Rhys spar with Sinna. "No one wants another war."

"We understand", Drakon says softly.

None of them mentions the Illyrians again the entire afternoon. Just like they haven`t mentioned Nesta all day. He can`t blame them, really. After all, no one wants to let the disagreement turn into a full-fledged fight.

Still, Cassian wonders if he`s the only one whose thoughts keep drifting back to Nesta. She wasn`t at breakfast or at lunch and when he knocked on her door before going to spar, there was no answer.

They stay in the yard for a few more hours, counting victories. Cassian wins, with Sinna coming in close second. Feyre is last, to her dismay, behind the human man who commands Cretea's armada.

Eventually, they all stop their sparring. Cassian puts away his sword and starts walking towards his rooms to clean himself up a little - he is drenched in sweat. But he stops when he hears steps behind him.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?", Miryam asks and falls into step besides him.

Cassian nods. After the letter he sent, it was clear that either Miryam or Drakon would seek him out sometime. He'd just hoped it would be Drakon.

_Wrong_ , Cassian`s instincts whisper whenever he looks at her, _unnatural, wrong. Run_. He hates it. He`s never been a male of prejudice, but damn, witches are something else. They appear in at least one third of the Illyrian`s stories, their fear of them so deeply engrained into them that every Illyrian can sense witches.

"I heard what you offered Nesta", he says, trying to keep his tone neutral. After all, it`s hardly Miryam`s fault what she was born as and Cassian will be damned if he lets something like this influence his view on another person.

"Not exactly what you had in mind?", she asks.

"No", Cassian replies honestly, "But I'm glad it turned out that way. Nesta may be difficult, but she deserves this chance."

"We're all difficult. Some of us are just easier to be around than others." Miryam shrugs. "But I didn't want to discuss my offer with you - it had little to do with you either way. I was just wondering if you have any insight about Nesta's powers."

"I thought you were the expert there", Cassian says. When Miryam doesn't reply, he adds, "I'm afraid I can't help you there. She stole something from the Cauldron, but I'm sure you already figured that out."

Miryam nods. "The moment I first saw her."

Cassian supresses a shiver and forces down the thoughts. _Unnatural_. He says, "Beyond that, we know little. We thought it might be Death, though." He watches Miryam closely. "You don't think so."

"No. Life and death aren't categories the Cauldron thinks in. It would be... unusual for her to get such a power."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help", Cassian says.

That seems the summary of his situation. _I`m sorry I couldn`t do more_. Maybe he just isn`t enough. Maybe Nesta knew that, decided that someone like him could never be good enough for her, and stayed away because of it. After all, it seems all he can do is either make things worse, or pass Nesta on to someone else.

"There are other ways still." Miryam runs a hand through her hair. "I had just hoped... Never mind. I'll figure something out."

"Why?", Cassian asks before he can stop himself, "You don't even know her."

"Everyone deserves a chance to heal", Miryam says, "Besides, I have some sympathy for people who have a strange power they never asked for and don't understand." She smiles slightly, like she knows exactly how he feels about her particular set of powers. "I should go. There`s another conversation I need to have."

“Which whom?”, Cassian asks.

“Not whom. What.”

\----

Nesta takes another swig from her bottle. The liquor burns going down her throat. Even though there is little left in the bottle, Nesta is still barely feeling the effect. Another thing she learned about her new Fae body - getting drunk is harder. Besides, after the last year, she has some experience holding her liquor.

Nesta drains the rest of the bottle and opens the second one. When she feels like this - empty as a shell, void of any emotion - alcohol is her only way to feel something. It is not real feeling, she knows, but the closest she can get.

“You know”, a voice says from behind her, “your sister worries that you are lying dead in some alley.”

Suppressing a groan, Nesta looks up to Prince Drakon, who sits down next to her. “And she sent you to check in?”

“No, actually. I was just walking by and saw you.”

“A polite person”, Nesta says between two swigs, “would have pretended not to notice.”

“And a polite person would have offered me a drink instead of keeping it all to herself, yet here we are.”

Nesta snorts and hands him the bottle. “I thought you don`t drink.”

“No, that would be Miryam.”

For a while, they sit in silence, passing the bottle between them. Nesta finds she doesn`t mind the company as much as she thought - especially because Drakon doesn`t remark on the fact that she is sitting alone, drinking. It the Prince shares his mate`s ability to just leave a person be sometimes. It`s almost enough to make Nesta like him.

After a while, she grows tired of the silence. She figures that if she plans to live here and pass as a native, she might as well learn something about the territory.

"Is Cretea as big as the Night Court?", she asks.

"Bigger." Nesta must have looked surprised, because Drakon grins and adds, "In spite of what most High Lords think, Prythian ia actually neither the centre of the world nor the biggest player out there. On the Continent, some territories are bigger than the entirety of Prythian. Cretea is about the size of the three Solar Courts put together."

Nesta whistles softly.

"Should you choose to stay here", Drakon says, "you can of course visit other cities as well, if you want to."

"Are they all like this one?", Nesta asks, "With all these different people."

Drakon nods. "After five hundred years, it all works rather well. I'd lie if I said everything was perfect, but it actually works. You should have seen it five hundred years ago." When Nesta frowns, he shrugs. "Humans and all kinds of faeries living together in peace had never been done before. Add to that that we had only just moved to Cretea, everyone had just been through War and the humans had been slaves their entire lives and you're in for a fun time. It took a century for things to become even remotely functional. By now, we worked most things out, though, and everyone got used to each other. Honestly, I'd say half the people have a mixed heritage of some kind."

Begrudgingly, Nesta has to admit that she's impressed. She hopes she'll find a book on this in the library, because she is somewhat tired of not knowing anything about the place she plans to live in. Or the people.

"Why do you do that?", she asks.

"What?"

"Call them humans. Most Fae say mortals."

"It makes them sound lesser, wouldn't you say?", Drakon asks, "Like Fae are so much better than them, even though we can die as well – just not as easily. And it may not sound like a big thing, but over time, our words influence our thoughts and then our actions."

"Lester", Nesta says.

Now, Drakon looks surprised. "You read ' _The way of words_ '?"

"A life without books is like a person without a heart."

Unbidden, Nesta thinks of Feyre, who only learnt to read because Rhys taught her. She herself never even noticed that she didn't know how to read. The thought stings like a sharp thorn.

"Chartino in ' _Western Winds_ '." Drakon laughs. "Careful, Lady Nesta. You're in danger of becoming one of my favourite people on this island. Would you like to see the library?"

Nesta considers for a moment. Surprisingly enough, she finds she actually wants to go, so she nods.

"Great", Drakon says, getting up, "I was just on my way there, actually. Looking into possible solutions for Rhys' problems with the Illyrians."

"What do you know of it?", Nesta asks.

"I studied it. Societies, political systems and how they change - stuff like that. Although I don't know all that much about the Illyrians. Have you ever been to the mountains?"

Nesta nods, trying not to think of the cold and the snapping wood. The anger is back again, sharp like a knife. And for a moment, she sees clearly what she might do. She could tell him how they banished her. What she saw in the Illyrian mountains - the females with clipped wings, the starving children living in the frozen mud. She knows how she could twist the words, making "Rhys tried" into "Rhys didn't care". She wonders how many words it would take to make Rhysand and his court into the villains. If she'd even need to say how easily Morrigan revealed their friends' secret to the human queens during the meeting.

It would be a nice revenge. Even if her words didn't end that friendship, Nesta is confident she could at least create a rift. Take something precious from her sisters' happy little circle for what they took from Elain and her by dragging them into this conflict.

Nesta already opened her mouth when another thought occurs. _Do you truly want to do this?_ Does she really want to punish and hurt her sister? Because Feyre had banished her and dragged her and Elain into this, but she had also kept them alive for five years. She is still her sister. (Besides, she would probably end up hurting Miryam and Drakon just as much as Rhysand and the others and that is not something she wants. Not at all.)

"I've been there twice", Nesta says and offers no further comment.

Because above all, she realises, she doesn't want to begin her stay here by ruining something. She just wants to sit in her new apartment and build herself a place at the hospital. And right now, she wants to go to the library.

"I could help you", she says quietly, "Looking for the books."

\----

The door is made of bronze, but Miryam knows there is lead inside, lead encompassing the entire chamber. It barely manages to mask the power within.

Miryam draws a knife from her belt. Wincing slightly, she slices it over her forearm. Blood wells up and she uses it ik draw a symbol on the door, the motion precise and well-practiced. Anyone else would have seen nothing but the door swinging open, but Miryam can see the glowing net of golden strings over the door unravelling as the wards are deactivated.

She slips into the tunnel beyond.

The tunnel is long and heavily warded. Even though the shields are keyed to her and her power allows her to see the traps, it is draining and more than a little dangerous. But the wards are strong enough that no one but her will easily get through (a very powerful witch might, but there aren't many of those left).

The closer Miryam gets to the centre, the stronger she feels the power flowing through the air. Her own power replies in kind, tugging at her like a strong current. The strings dance through the air, making her dizzy.

Finally, she reaches the end of the tunnel and the last ward. (This one, she didn't set. It was there before she was ever born, not meant to keep people out, but to test them.)

Miryam knew what was about to happen from the beginning. Still, she can't help the fear creeping through her as mist rises and forms a figure before her.

Long dark hair, light brown skin, the same shade as Miryam's. Glinting golden jewellery. Beautiful in the way only Fae are, but with no life in her dark eyes.

Miryam keeps her head high. Doesn`t allow herself to shake with fear. "Let me through", she demands.

The female clicks her tongue. "You still don't know your place, worm. But don't worry - I'll teach you yet." Flames lick at her fingers.

Miryam stares at the female who killed her. Who broke her into so many pieces that, even five hundred years later, she still hasn't pierced herself back together.

"You are _dead_ ", she says, "Your empire is nothing but ashes, there hasn't been a single slave in over five hundred years. You _lost_. Now let me through."

Queen Ravenia of the Black Land watches her for a moment longer, then the illusion vanishes. Miryam steps through the doorway. Once she is inside, she lets herself slide to the ground. Her hands are shaking.

_Everything okay?_ , Drakon asks through the bond.

_No. I still can't.._. She trails off.

_I should have come along,_ Drakon says. He sounds worried.

So Miryam forces herself to give a light-hearted reply. _And watched me stare at nothing for hours? Not terribly interesting, I fear._

_I could have watched you._

Miryam smiles softly. _Talk to me about something. Anything._

_How about this: I`m sitting in the library, looking through a bunch of old books. And guess who`s helping me._

_Nesta Archeron._

She can feel Drakon`s amusement. _Correct. It seems she has a thing for books. Although she thinks that Chartino is a better author than Lester, so I`m not sure if we can ever be friends._

Miryam laughs. _Did you find anything yet?_

_Not really. But we`ll keep looking._

Miryam hopes they`ll find something. The last thing anyone needs right now is internal conflict in one of the territories fighting for the humans. And she really, really doesn`t want to get into any further arguments with her friends. Getting dragged into a bunch of internal conflicts was not how she imagined this visit going, but there`s little she can do about it (after all, saying nothing has never been one of her strengths).

_I love you,_ she sends down the bond.

_And I love you_ , Drakon replies, _You're stronger than her. You always were._

Miryam touches the ring on her left hand and gets up. The Cauldron is standing in the middle of the room. It is a void, seeming to suck everything into it. All of the strings connect to it. It is power and creation and light and dark.

But Miryam turns left, to the sword standing in a vitrine. In its hilt, a dark stone is glinting. Powerful as well, though it pales compared to the Cauldron. A string connects them. Another string connects Miryam to the stone.

She puts a hand over her heart and bows to the waist (a Seraphim custom she copied from Drakon). Only then does she turn back to the Cauldron. She doesn't bow again.

The Cauldron's power rumbles in greeting and Miryam steps closer.

"Yele nia Nesta Archeron", she says. _I'm here to ask about Nesta Archeron._

Magic rumbles as its anger pulses through the room. Stones begin to fall from the ceiling.

"Aleshe", Miryam says. _Stop_. "Ashe me..." She hesitates.

There is no word for _kill_ or _death_ in the Language of the Universe (such a dramatic name for it, but somehow fitting). No word for life, either. She doubts the Cauldron even knows the concept and Miryam can't explain it. Not with a language that was made for magic and spells and creation, not for idle conversations. But it is the only language the Cauldron understands.

It stills, perhaps sensing her distress. The Cauldron likes her (if it is capable of such a feeling) almost as much as it hates Nesta. She doesn't know if it's because she's a witch, or because she's been Made by something it created.

"Yele nia Nesta Archeron", she repeats. The Cauldron pointedly ignores her.

"Fine. Then we do it the hard way."

Miryam reaches out and puts her hand on the side of the Cauldron. Ice and fire shoot through her, power like lighting. But it isn't Nesta the Cauldron shows her, but her.

Her childhood. Blood and sand and pain. Memories she tried hard to forget her entire life.

She gasps and rips her hand away from the Cauldron. "That was not very nice."

She can feel the Cauldron's confusion. “Ele te”, it whispers. _This is you._

_This is my past_ , she wants to reply. But there isn't a word for past in the Language of the Universe, either. And perhaps, past, present and future are all the same for the Cauldron, anyways.

"Yele ken nia me", she says. _I didn't come to talk about me. "_ Akeli Nesta Archeron?" _What happened with Nesta Archeron?_

This time, the Cauldron rumbles with annoyance, its anger pulsing through the air.

It isn`t evil. Many think that, but it isn`t true. The Cauldron is different, dangerous in the way a great beast is, but not evil. After they brought it to Cretea, Miryam read any book she could find about it and found out that the Cauldron has a sentience of its own, in whatever way.

Still, Miryam hardly ever senses any other emotion from it than anger. Maybe a side effect of what Hybern did to it (broke it and forced it, used it for a million things it was never meant to do – the Cauldron hates the king, she knows) or if it lost something when it was cleaved apart. Because there is an emptiness in the Cauldron, too, like it is missing something – and Miryam doubts it is the piece Nesta stole.

Stones begin falling from the ceiling again.

“Oh, just stop it”, Miryam says, even though she knows the Cauldron doesn`t understand this language, “Take your annoyance out on people who deserve it. I`m certainly not scared of you and if you wanted me to worship you, oh great pot of creation, you shouldn't have let them slaughter so many of my people.”

The Cauldron stops its rumbling again. In the beginning, it was a lot harder to get it to calm down, but halfway through the journey back to Cretea (after the Cauldron almost sank their fleet thrice in some kind of temper tantrum), they began to get along better.

Miryam sits down on the ground. "Akeli Nesta Archeron. I'll wait all night for the answer if I have to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this! Next time, there will be more Nessian interaction again (this time, there was little with them, I know, I`m sorry) as well as some more stuff on Nesta`s powers.  
> I`ll try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible, but I`m also working on my other acotar fic "Before the Wall" (that is kind of connected to this one) and I have to divide time between both fics. So sorry in advance if it might take a while for me to update


	3. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3

Five minutes into breakfast, Nesta already wishes she had skipped the whole affair. 

“What does it matter to you where I went?”, she asks.

“I worried, Nesta”, Feyre replies. Next to her, Rhysand looks like he is biting his tongue to keep from saying anything. “I had no idea where you went and after our argument about the Cauldron. And then you just vanished. I felt terrible.”

“I was in the city.”

Nesta looks around at the table. Cassian is trying very hard to look like he isn`t listening to every word they say. Most of the people from Cretea are strangers (Nesta really should have listened during the introductions), Miryam and Drakon being the exception, but they seem to be the only ones who are actually _not_ listening to the argument. Miryam looks like she hasn`t slept all night and is trying very hard not to let it show, while Drakon is busy shooting her not-so-subtle worried looks.

“The city?”, Feyre asks, tearing Nesta`s attention back to her sister. “Why?”

Nesta puts down her fork. “Because”, she says, “I`m staying here.”

“ _What_?”, Feyre asks.

“I already got an apartment and I`ll be starting in the local hospital tomorrow. As a nurse.” Perhaps not the best way to have this conversation, but she can`t muster a more sensitive approach.

Feyre is shaking her head softly. Rhysand puts a hand on her arm.

“But... you can`t just...”, Feyre whispers, “Why?”

“Why not? I`m neither needed nor wanted in Velaris.”

“What about Elain? She`ll be heartbroken.”

“She can come visit me here”, Nesta says.

Elain, always Elain. She wonders why if it would kill Feyre to admit that it is _her_ who doesn`t want Nesta to leave.

Rhysand growls softly, but doesn`t say anything. Unusual. Everyone else at the table suddenly seems to find their food extremely interesting. 

“Nesta, isn`t that decision-”, Feyre begins, but Nesta cuts her off.

“Do you really want to have that conversation here?” She shoots a pointed look at their hosts. “I made my choice and I will stay here.”

Feyre turns to Rhysand. They exchange one of these looks that tells everyone that they are having one of those silent conversations of theirs. But, surprisingly enough, Rhysand seems to actually be on her side for once, because Feyre seems to deflate a little.

“If this is what you want”, Feyre says softly.

“It is.”

A rather awkward silence follows. Again, Rhysand surprises Nesta by being the one to steer the conversation in another direction. He turns to Miryam and Drakon and begins a conversation about something of no consequence. After a while, Feyre joins in, too. Nesta sits through breakfast in silence. As soon as it is over, she gets up and stalks out of the room.

She walks through the palace aimlessly for a while, offering curt nods to the people who pass her in the corridors. Finally, she steps out on a balcony and leans against the railing. Down below, the city is already bustling with activity. Nesta takes a deep breath of the warm, humid air. 

Steps sound behind her. Nesta doesn`t need to turn around. She can`t say that she`s surprised that he followed her. She can hear his heartbeat quicken, but he doesn`t say anything.

For a few seconds, they just stand there in silence. Nesta feels her own heart thundering in her chest, matching pace with his. Still, she keeps her gaze locked on the city below, resisting the urge to turn around.

Cassian`s breathing hitches. He clears his throat. “Miryam asked me to tell you that she wants to train with you this afternoon.”

Nesta`s fingers tighten around the balcony railing. She has to fight against the urge to snap the wood between her fingers.

“Well, you delivered your message. Now run off like a good little errand boy.”

Instead, Cassian leans against the balcony next to her. “It`s a beautiful city. I`m sure it would be stunning to fly above it. Just imagine. And seeing the rainforest from above.”

“You`re right”, Nesta says without tearing her gaze from the city. She can hear Cassian`s sharp intake of breath. “Maybe I`ll ask Drakon to take me for a flight.”

From the corner of her eye, Nesta sees Cassian`s face go slack with shock before he pulls himself back together. He shoots her a lazy grin.

“Trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”, he asks, but there is a tightness in his voice that wasn`t there before. His entire body has gone stiff, like he`s bracing for a fight. “You shouldn`t choose an already-mated male, then.”

Nesta snorts. “Not everything I do or say is about you.”

“But most things are, wouldn`t you say?”

Nesta twists around to meet his eye. “Yes, well, maybe that`s the problem, you overgrown bat.”

“Nes...”, Cassian begins, but then his head darts around to the door leading up to the balcony. “What can we do for you, Prince?”, he asks with a slight edge in his voice. (So much for him not being jealous.)

Drakon, who is standing in the doorway, makes a point of ignoring the tone. “I didn`t want to interrupt”, he says and sketches a small bow to Nesta. “I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed your company yesterday.”

A small snarl escapes Cassian`s lips. It seems that the rational knowledge that Drakon is not even remotely interested in Nesta and never will be hasn`t reached the territorial part of his bull-headed brain. Sometimes, Nesta really hates Fae males.

“And”, Drakon continues, “Miryam asked me to tell you that she`d like to train with you this afternoon, unless you have other plans.”

Nesta arches an eyebrow. “I thought she sent that one”, she jerks her chin towards Cassian, “to tell me.”

Drakon frowns. “No. Why would she - oh.” He looks between Nesta and Cassian, who suddenly seems extremely interested in the city below. “Right. Well, I`ll have to be off. There is some... important... stuff I need to do. Really urgent. So, I`ll see you.”

With that, he all but flees the balcony. Nesta waits until she is sure he is well out of hearing distance, then she turns back to Cassian. But the High General of the Night Court`s armies doesn`t meet her gaze. Instead, he is busy readjusting his wings so that they catch as much of the rising sun as possible.

But he doesn`t say anything, doesn`t offer an explanation. Not. A. Word. Nesta counts to five hundred in her head. Then, she turns around.

“Wait”, Cassian says.

“What for?” The words come out in a half-snarl.

“Why is it so horrible for you to spent time with me? Can you truly not stand my presence?”

Nesta doesn`t say anything. There is no reply, really.

Cassian looks like he`s about to say something, but then, he shakes his head. “You really don`t make this easy, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I tried. But apparently, giving you space is wrong, spending time with you is wrong and forcing you out of your shell is wrong, too. And perhaps, if you`d just _tell me what you want_ , I could get it right.”

“If I`m so difficult, why don`t you just stay away?”

“I can`t!”

Something cracks open in Nesta at the words. The pain is almost physical. He can`t. Not he doesn`t want to. Because honestly - why would he?

She lifts her chin, pain turning to sharpness. “Then lucky for you”, she says, “I _can_.”

With that, she spins around and stalks off. 

\----

Rhys is alone in the palace. Well, not really alone, of course. But somehow, everyone but him seems to have vanished somewhere.

_Poor, Illyrian baby_ , Feyre shoots down the bond.

_Abandoned by my friends and family_ , he replies, _Having fun with Nephelle?_

_Yes._ _She sounds distracted_ _. I`ll tell you later._

So much for this conversation. Feyre is out with Nephelle, Cassian is running after Sinna and Miryam is training with Nesta. That, perhaps, is the most surprising one. He would have bet a fortune on Miryam not being able to stand Nesta and vice versa.

Rhys rounds a corner and runs into Drakon who is sitting on a balcony, an ancient-looking book in his lap. When Rhys walks up to him, he looks up.

“Good book?”, Rhys asks.

Drakon shrugs. “A bit dry, but Nesta found it in the library yesterday and I was hoping for some insight on your Illyrian problem.”

Damn Drakon and his readiness to help. Most people would have left it at an empty offer, but he went through with it and actually started looking for solutions. Unwilling to let the subject return to the matter with the Illyrians, Rhys jumps onto the second subject.

“When did you start hanging out with Nesta? I thought you couldn`t stand rudeness.”

“Yesterday. And I thought we already had that discussion.”

For a moment, Rhys wrangles with the words. “Look”, he says carefully, “Are you sure you aren`t mixing things up here? Not every powerful, broken female - “

“Before you finish that sentence”, Drakon says, the lightness of his tone masking a new edge, “I should warn you that I won`t hesitate to shove you off this balcony.”

Rhys bites his lip. This is the third time in just as many days that a conversation turns into an argument. He wonders how it came to that. He doesn`t want to constantly get into arguments with them, not at all, but he just can`t help it. During the War, things were easy between them, but it seems like something changed and he can`t quite put a finger on it. Maybe he shouldn`t have brought Nesta.

So he shoves down his pride and says, "I'm sorry about the thing with Nesta. But that doesn't need to change anything between us, does it?"

Drakon shuts his book with a snap. "You think this is about your sister-in-law?"

"It`s the only thing I can think of.”

Drakon shakes his head. "And it hasn't even occurred to you thaz the fact that we haven't seen each other in 350 years might have had mpre impact on our relationship than Nesta?"

Rhys rolls his eyes. "Really? I thought this was Miryam's text."

But Drakon doesn't grin. "It seems you think this was a joke. Let me clarify: It isn't."

"So what?", Rhys asks, trying to make his tone sound light but not quite able to hide his annoyance, "You're sulking because I didn't come visit often enough? A bit childish."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Rhys wants to take them back. He should really, really stop lashing out like a cornered animal when he feels threatened. It just isn't the best way to calm a situation.

"Do you know", Drakon asks sharply, "how many times we thought you were _dead_? How much we worried when we never heard from you again after this one visit?" He shakes his head. "At first, we thought you were just busy trying to get control of your court. But when the decades passed and you still hadn't sent word, we worried. You wouldn't have been the first High Lord to be murdered, after all."

Rhys winces. He didn't take that into consideration. But of course - they wouldn't have had a way of knowing, would they?

"I think that we waited two decades", Drakon says, "until we risked checking in on you. Only to find out that you were perfectly _fine_."

"I was busy", Rhys snaps, "Sorry for the inconvenience, but I had a court to run!"

"The _inconvenience_ got two hundred people killed. Because the third time we went to check in on you, some ancient thing noticed and followed us here. It`s the reason we set up that shield."

Rhys flinches. "I never meant-"

"Oh, I know you didn't!" Drakon jumps to his feet and begins pacing. "But honestly? I don't know what stings worse: Three and a half centuries of silence, or the fact that you only remembered us when you needed our _help_."

"This isn't fair. You know that's not what it's like."

"I know that you and your Inner Circle were our closest friends during the War", Drakon says. He doesn`t sound angry now. Just disappointed. "I know that I can't count how often we saved each other, almost died for each other. But I also know that friends don't act like that. They just don't. And I know that Miryam and I both thought that you'd explain or at the very least apologize. But you didn't, so what do you expect me to think?"

Rhys knows that there is only one way to fix this: by explaining. Except that explaining would kind of defeat the purpose of staying away for so long. And Rhys isn't entirely sure if the truth would fix anything in this situation.

"You wanted to be left in peace", he says carefully, the same thing he told Feyre months ago, "You wanted to be forgotten. And I didn't want to intrude."

"You know", Drakon drawls, "saying you didn't want to put us in danger by visiting, but having no problem at all with asking us to fight or to hide the Cauldron is a piss-poor lie. Even I can see through that."

He flares his wings and steps towards the edge of the balcony.

"Wait...", Rhys says, not wanting to leave on this note.

Drakon indeed pauses, but Rhys still doesn't have an explanation to give. When he doesn't say anything, Drakon shakes his head and leaps off the balcony, leaving Rhys behind with the absolutely unbearable feeling that he did everything wrong.

\----

"So, what happens now?", Nesta asks.

She is standing in a small valley, surrounded by small, rolling hills. As far as Nesta can see, there is nothing - no trees, no settlements. Nothing she could hurt if her magic slips her control.

"Now", Miryam replies, "we train."

Nesta crosses her arms. "I don't want to fight. I don't need to."

"I'm not teaching you to fight. I'm teaching you the basics and as soon as you got those mastered, you never have to see me again."

"Amren already taught me the basics", Nesta says. She tries not to think back on how things ended between them. Usually, she avoids the subject carefully.

"And I have only the biggest respect for her, but two weeks of training simply aren't enough. Not for someone as powerful as you."

Nesta presses her lips together. A part of her wants to push back, to downright refuse. She doubts that Miryam would have her kicked out for it. Then again, she also didn't think that Feyre would kick her out of Velaris, yet here they are.

"Fine", Nesta snaps.

"Good." Miryam sits down on a small rock. "For today, I want you to release a part of your magic."

Nesta frowns. "You're teaching me control by teaching me to lose it?"

This is not what she wants. If she is being honest, she'd rather not use her power at all. She'd rather not have it. But if anything, she wants control - enough that she won't ever have to use it again.

But Miryam says, "You can imagine your magic like a river. The stronger and more powerful you are, the bigger and stronger it is."

Nesta's head shoots up. That comparison is extremely on point. Her magic is indeed a river, its current pushing and pulling at her. Some days, it gets almost too much to bear.

"What you call control", Miryam continues, "is the equivalent of building a wall in the middle of the river to keep it back. But the longer you do it, the more water adds up behind it and eventually, the pressure becomes too much. The wall shatters." She gives her a pointed look. "And that is why I'd like you to open a door in the wall and release some water, so to say."

That explains why Drakon winnowed them both far away from the city. It seems that Miryam wanted to make sure that there's no one around for Nesta to hurt. There's just a small flaw in the plan.

"What about you?", Nesta asks, "I could kill you, you know?"

"Believe it or not, but I did take that into consideration."

Without giving Nesta the chance to reply, Miryam draws a knife from her belt and runs it over her forearm. Blood wells up and drops on the ground before her. Miryam whispers a few words in a language Nesta doesn't understand and around her, a perfect circle of light flickers to life.

She sheathes her knife. "I know that you don't know me", she says, "But if this is supposed to work, you have to at least trust me that I know what I'm doing. And that I won't let you hurt anyone - myself included."

Nesta hesitates, then she nods. "So I just release it?"

"I prepared a ward in advance", Miryam says, "Can you sense it?"

Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. Sensing wards was one of the first things Amren taught her. She stretches her awareness. The first thing she finds is the circle Miryam is standing in. Its sides are smooth like glass, not a single unevenness to be found. It seems she really did take precautions.

Nesta keeps looking. It takes her mere seconds to find the second ward. This one is built like a small wall. Far more uneven then the first one. She opens her eyes.

"There", she says and points.

"Good. Now, shoot your power at it", Miryam says, "I know Amren taught you some basics about breaking wards, but this is not what I want you to do. Just use it as a focus point."

"Okay", Nesta says and reaches inside for her power.

"Slowly", Miryam warns, "Don't take it all at once."

She needn't have bothered. Because Nesta's power is a stubborn thing these days - it comes when she doesn't want it to and, apparently, doesn't listen when she calls for it. For a few heartbeats, Nesta just stands there. But no matter what she does, her power refuses to so much as stir. She hisses in frustration, feeling like a complete fool.

"This isn't working", she snaps.

"Just keep trying. These things take time."

So Nesta tries. Standing in the clearing like a complete fool, she tries to get her magic to do her bidding. She begs and pushes and orders, but it doesn`t so much as stir. Miryam occasionally offers advice, but otherwise sits there, watching her carefully.

Finally, she has enough. "How long do you expect me to stand around here before you understand that it doesn't work?"

"It doesn't work", Miryam says, "because you spent the last months building up walls around your magic, only using it when it slipped your control. Obviously it takes time now." She runs a hand through her dark hair. "Do you think it would help if we got Cassian?"

Nesta's breath catches in her throat. She goes entirely still, not a single muscle in her body moving.

"And why", she says in a voice that usually makes people flinch, "do you think that I would want him here?"

Miryam arches an eyebrow, completely unruffled. "You know each other well. And I assumed-"

"You assumed", Nesta hisses, "that because of what happened on that battlefield, I am now his. That just because I'm his-"

She catches herself just before she can say the word. The secret she almost gave up.

"You know?", Miryam asks, "How?"

"How do _you_ know?", Nesta retorts.

This is a secret she kept for months, now. A secret that, up until now, was hers alone.

"I'm a witch", Miryam says, like that is all the explanation needed. And perhaps where she is from, it is.

Nesta considers telling her that this tells her exactly nothing. But then, she doesn't feel like revealing how little she still knows about this world she was shoved into against her will. In her experience, it usually leads to people looking at her with a mixture of pity and disdain. Both things Nesta can't stand.

"And you?", Miryam asks.

"During the final battle", Nesta says. She doesn't know why. She didn't mean to say it, but the words just came out. "When the King was about to kill us both."

"And afterwards", Miryam says, "you stayed away." Not a hint of judgment in her voice, just a statement. "Because you don't want a mating bond."

"What I don't want", Nesta hisses, "is to be wanted solely because of a mating bond."

"I doubt that Cassian is aware, though."

"Oh, I know he isn't." Nesta laughs bitterly. "But that doesn't change anything about the pull, does it?”

Her power is beginning to rise now, her control splintering like it is indeed a wall. But Nesta can't be bothered to keep it back. Just like she can't keep the words back.

"All that talk", she says, "of how he _can't keep away_. It ha nothing to do with me - it's just that he literally can't keep away. Try as he might."

Her power erupts. It shatters straight through the ward that was supposed to be her focus point. The small hills surrounding their training space turn to dust.

"It's just the bond. All of it", Nesta whispers, voice breaking, "He doesn't really want _me_. No one ever does."

Cracks are forming in the ground around her, leading away from her like little bolts of lightning. A rumble rises from deep within the earth and the ground is trembling. Nesta can barely breathe in the wake of the power rushing through her.

It would be so very easy to give in to it's pull. To release the last thread of control and just let it fill her entirely. So very, very easy.

"You control it", Miryam says.

Ever so slowly, Nesta turns around to her. Miryam has gotten up and is watching her closely. The circle between them glows brightly, but seems to hold firm.

"You control it", Miryam repeats, "Not the other way around. It's your river - you choose where it flows. This current only pushes you around as long as _you let it_."

Nesta closes her eyes and tries to ignore her power pulling at her, the burn in her body. _Stop_ , she orders her magic. It ignores her. The gaps in the ground widen.

"Do you need me to help you?", Miryam asks.

"No. I can do it."

Nesta clenches her hands to fists. _Stop_. She puts all force behind the command.

Ever so slowly the magic begins to calm down. And this once, Nesta doesn't shove it back behind a wall directly, but lets it flow through her. For a moment, she thinks it is going to use the hint of weakness to overwhelm her. Instead, it stops pulling at her. It barely even hurts anymore.

Because Nesta and tze power - they are one.

Miryam is grinning at her. Ever so slowly, Nesta smiles back.

She raises a hand and her power shoots into the sky, a glowing bright pillar. There is lightning in her veins and for once, she does feel. And she feels good.

"Time to pull back", Miryam says.

But Nesta doesn't want to. She wants to stay like this forever and never, ever go back.

"Nesta. This is getting dangerous", Miryam says, an edge to her tone, "Pull back right now."

"I'm fine", Nesta insists and for once, she actually is.

"Pull back!"

"No."

Nesta sends her magic flying through the air. Dust rises up. She twirls her hand and it turns into a spiral.

And in a heartbeat, it is all gone. Her magic vanishes like someone ripped it away from her, leaving her empty. Nesta gasps, fumbling for the power that was hers to command just a moment ago and coming up empty.

She stumbles, nearly falls down. She es so very cold suddenly. Her head hurts - everything hurts.

Cursing, Nesta lowers herself down to the ground and presses her palms against her head. Steps sound in the sand. Nesta doesn't look up as Miryam crouches down before her.

"I need a drink", she mutters.

"Can I suggest some water and food instead? Alcohol just makes it worse."

Nesta groans in annoyance, but lifts her throbbing head. Miryam hands her a bottle of cool water and a package that, from the smell of it, contains some kind of food. To her surprise, she actually begins to feel less like someone ran her over with a carriage as she eats.

Finally, she asks, "What was that?"

"You body's way of telling you that you should stop before you hurt yourself. I call it magical hangover."

"You don't even drink", Nesta points out drily.

The description is accurate enough, though. It certainly does feel like a hangover. And a bad one at that. But some of the pressure that has been building inside Nesta for months now is gone. She feels lighter, somehow.

Miryam snatches a bunch of grapes out of the bag before it is all empty and says, "I'm impressed, you know?"

"By what?", Nesta asks, "How much a person can mess up with such a simple task?"

"You didn't mess up", Miryam says and, at Nesta's cool look, adds, "You lost control, which, I'll admit, wasn't my plan. But you did accomplish what I wanted you to and some on top. You could even have avoided that magical hangover if you had pulled back directly."

Nesta looks around at the destruction she created. One of the cracks in the grounds is almost half a metre wide. "I razed four hills. At least."

"Cretea is half as big as Prythian. I can assure you, those weren't our only hills." Miryam grins, but when Nesta just stares at her flatly, she sighs. "What I don't understand", she says, "is why you didn't know this already. I know you trained with Amren and I know you aren't the first extremely powerful person she has ever trained. So how come this is new to you?"

Nesta wants to snap something, but she doesn't know what. So she just shrugs.

"Like you said: I only trained for about two weeks. The focus was always on fixing the Wall and some basic things. The rest never came up."

She can read the other question in Miryam's eyes. _Why did you not train after the war_? But Nesta ignores it. Because this question is dangerous territory. Her desperate attempts to just forget her power. Amren's fury when she found out that she still had it and had kept it secret. The argument that followed and the silence afterwards.

Nesta takes another swig from the water bottle.

"Thank you", she says. (She's not sure what she is thanking her for. For not asking questions, or for the training, or for letting her stay. Maybe all of it.)

Miryam nods. "My pleasure." She hesitates. "About what you said earlier..."

Nesta tenses. She tries to brace herself for the words that are sure to come. A heart-felt speech about how amazing the mating bond is, how Nesta just needs to allow it. How she is being ridiculous. Empty words that surely her sisters care, and her friends at the Night Court.

Nesta hates being coddled. She'd choose the harsh truth over the gentle lie every time.

"The fact that he's your mate", Miryam says, "doesn't mean anything unless you choose it to. Should you want it, you can always reject the bond, or even have it broken altogether if it wasn't accepted yet. I'd suggest you think carefully about it before you do, but it _is_ your choice to make." She gives her a tight smile. "For what it's worth, though, I don't think the thing between you and Cassian is entirely the bond. I heard what happened during that final battle and no mating bond is that powerful."

Nesta's throat is suddenly too tight to speak, so she just nods. She doesn`t know what she`d say, anyways. Her first thought was to just break the bond and be done with it. Do Cassian the favour of freeing him from the connection. But then, is it really her choice to make? A bond affects two, after all. And then she remembers kneeling over Cassian during the final battle. Which is when she has to shove the thoughts back down or risk drowning in them.

So instead, she takes the coward`s way out and changes the subject. "Do you know what's wrong with my magic? It just disappeared."

“Oh, that was me, actually.” Miryam looks a bit sheepish. “Sorry. But you weren`t listening to me. I can give it back, though.”

Nesta gapes at her before she catches herself and schools herself back into cool indifference. If only she were able to just snatch away someone`s magic like that. She would have loved to do it with Rhys when he used his power to intimidate her. She can vividly imagine the look on his face if she did.

“Could you...” Nesta hesitates. “Could you take it away forever?”

“No. Even a day would give me one hell of a headache.” She begins distractedly sketching symbols into the dust. “Would you want me to, though? You didn`t seem to hate it a moment ago.”

Nesta thinks back to it and surprisingly enough, finds that it is true. For just a moment, her magic wasn`t her enemy, but her ally. They were one. And it felt _good_.

“You can give it back now”, Nesta says, avoiding the answer. 

Miryam nods and then, Nesta can feel her magic flowing back. She braces herself, but the power doesn`t threaten to overwhelm her. It flows around her gently - still burning cold, but no longer harming her. Its presence is almost comforting. Long before the pressure becomes uncomfortable, the flow stops.

Nesta frowns. “I can hold it all.”

“That _is_ all.”

Hesitantly, Nesta reaches out for her power. And finds the ocean she has grown used to in the past months, as deep as it was before training. But it is no longer raging against her. For the first time since she came out of the Cauldron, it doesn`t try to suffocate her, but lets her breathe freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like where this is going! There were lots of arguments this time, but it WILL get better. I`d love to hear what you think!
> 
> And as for the training, I do know that Nesta was rather advanced in acowar. But I just hate having characters excel at everything after a few weeks. Getting a detailed understanding for and control over magic this powerful just takes time and Nesta only had very little training, so I couldn't have her excel at everything. (But she did cause a minor earthquake, so I guess it is pretty obvious where things are going with her power.)

**Author's Note:**

> I never wrote Nesta before, so I really hope this turned out alright. Feel free to tell me your opinion :)  
> Also, this story is compliant with the other acotar story I`m working on. It`s called "Before the Wall" and and is basically the backstory for Miryam and Drakon. You don`t have to read it to understand this story, but I would of course be very happy if you did (I sometimes feel like I`m the only person in this fandom who thinks Miryam and Drakon are awesome, which is really a shame)


End file.
